Underground Rivers
by qwanderer
Summary: Everyone seems to want to be around Bruce, for their own reasons. But maybe it's not that simple. Clint's definitely not that simple.


It had only been a couple weeks since Tony had gotten them all moved into his tower, and they were all still getting accustomed to each other's habits and the presence of so many people.

Bruce had accidentally stayed up far too late last night, but the projects he was working on were all making such good progress. He was sure he was getting close to a breakthrough on a couple of them, too.

Tony had asked for his help on an anti-rejection coating he'd been working on for implanted prosthetics, to finish some pretty amazing work of Tony's and get it to the point where it could be used to help people. And Jane had sent over some spectrographic data she was analyzing, trying to see if there was any possibility that it represented alien transmissions from a race they had yet to encounter. It was all fascinating, and it was difficult to know when to put it down for a while.

But work wasn't the only aspect of living in the Tower; there were the other people that lived here, too, and dealing with people who knew what he was, people who sought him out regularly, was unfamiliar, and his responses were very much a work in progress.

Natasha had come by the lab today, eyes wary as always, but seemingly determined to become accustomed to his presence. She asked if he minded if she sat and read for a while on the couch that Tony had insisted every good lab needed.

"Uh, it's okay, I guess?" he'd responded. He was used to solitude, but he was also used to working in whatever circumstances he found himself, and there wasn't any reason to object to her presence.

"Thanks," she said, smiling as she sat down. "It's quiet in here, but not too quiet, do you know what I mean?"

Bruce nodded, accepting the partial lie. He knew all too well how silence grew more and more terrible when a person was isolated. But in Manhattan, she hardly needed to come here to find the presence of people, to hear the sounds of life going on around her as she read.

He could feel her there as he worked, knew that her eyes flicked up to him on occasion, and recognized the discomfort she was trying to combat - he'd felt it about himself, often enough, and hadn't really had a choice about sitting in the same space as the Hulk and learning to accept it.

Bruce was a little in awe of her for taking it on voluntarily.

After a couple of hours, she'd finished her book, and she left again, with an easy goodbye. Bruce answered it with a smile - and sighed a breath of relief when she was gone.

He lost himself in the work again, answering an email of Tony's about the elasticity of cartilege and how it applied to the mechanics of one of his prosthetic designs.

There was the sound of heavy, purposeful footsteps outside in the hall, and Bruce's reaction to that was still one of near-panic, freezing and looking around him for military uniforms. But he managed to relax when he saw long blond hair through the glass door - that step was Thor, and he would have to unlearn his conditioned response to the sound of it, if he wanted to keep his mood level while he lived here.

"Greetings, Bruce!" the alien said enthusiastically. "I do not wish to interrupt, but if you have time, I would speak with you."

"No, you're not interrupting, I've got time," Bruce responded. He put aside the computer display where he'd been going over Tony's designs. The truth was that when he'd heard Thor's footsteps, he'd completely lost his train of thought, and he needed a moment anyway to settle and reassure himself (and the Hulk) that no one was coming for him, before he could find the thread again.

"Good!" Thor beamed. "I require counsel with regards to a gift for Jane. Darcy tells me that you share many interests, and you may have more ideas of appropriate gifts than either of us. I wish to impress, but it takes something more than mere grandeur to impress a lady as clever as my dearest Jane."

Bruce smiled. He'd already ordered her a geeky t-shirt, but he had plenty of ideas left over. They discussed the pros and cons of various objects, from books and posters to a mini fridge shaped like a Borg cube, before they came to the ultimate conclusion that tickets to a sci-fi convention had the biggest wow factor.

"It does sound grand, a gathering in celebration of stories about great scientists and incredible discoveries. I am glad that I came to you. You have my thanks."

Thor slapped a great hand down on Bruce's shoulder, and Bruce's glasses were jostled down his nose a bit. Bruce pushed them up again as he waved a farewell. "You're welcome," he told Thor. It made him smile to think how everyone there would react to having a real live extraterrestrial warrior among them. Bruce thought he was probably going to be popular with the klingons.

He breathed deep, and returned his eyes to his work.

He sent another email to Tony about how closely joint mechanics needed to be replicated and the adaptability of the human brain, and a few minutes later the man himself came bursting into the lab, waving his arms and saying something about "optimal ease of use" and getting twenty new ideas for more lifelike materials, and Bruce sighed and shook his head and tried to talk Tony into keeping the tech simple so that they could _actually maybe finish it in the next year_ and start getting it out to the people who needed it.

Tony rolled his eyes, agreed, called him a killjoy, and left just as abruptly as he'd entered. Bruce was left blinking at the closing door to his lab.

It wasn't a _bad_ thing that people kept seeking him out. It was just... really unfamiliar, to the point of being unsettling. Bruce was feeling a little unsteady, but he checked in with himself, and there wasn't any strain between him and the Hulk. No special spikes of anger or distress.

Maybe he was just tired.

Well, he could just finish up the specs for this coating, and then retreat to his apartment, where it was dark and quiet and he could do yoga or meditate or just melt into a puddle on his bed, staring at nothing particular until he fell into a doze.

An hour later, Bruce was still working, having found a new avenue that could have the potential to reduce rejection by a significant percentage. He was running simulations when there was a knock on his door.

He looked up to see Steve peering through the glass, and waved him in tiredly. Bruce took off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes before mustering a smile for Captain America.

"Hey, Bruce," Steve said, returning the smile. "You look like you've been working hard."

"That's a nice way of putting it," Bruce answered. "It's been a long couple of days; I know I'm not exactly at my best."

"You could probably use a break, then," Steve said, smile widening. "I was thinking we could all have dinner tonight, the whole team together, get to know each other better as a unit in a more relaxed situation. Wouldn't be the same without you," he said at the dubious and tired look that was becoming apparent on Bruce's face.

Bruce took that in, thinking about the whole group of them together, waiting for him, wanting him to be there, and it was both welcome and terrifying. He was torn. He didn't know what answer he wanted to give, but Steve was waiting. He took one huge, ragged breath, and then another followed, until he was leaning lopsidedly against the workbench, and it was all he could do not to sink to the floor and sob.

"Uh, Bruce?" came Steve's voice. "Are you okay?"

Bruce held out a hand, flat palm towards Steve, warding him away, because he didn't know what to do with that confused, slightly guilty concern right now. It was part of the too much he was having trouble with.

"Okay," Steve said, "Forget about dinner, wasn't important. I'll just... go?"

Bruce managed to nod a bit as he sank lower, unable to stop the tears.

Bruce heard the door open and close, and then it was just him and the silence, the familiar, heavy, empty silence, and Bruce let his racking sobs echo out into it, because what was he if he wanted to be around people but couldn't even remember how to deal with living with people without crumbling apart? He hugged his knees to his chest and wished, as he had so many times, that he was someone else, someone better at life.

When the door opened next, some part of Bruce heard, but he was too far gone to respond, too lost to the desperately escaping flow of tears.

Whoever it was was used to being quiet, but made a bit of noise approaching anyway, so that Bruce didn't jump out of his skin again when a warm hand fell on his back, and strong arms enveloped him.

He vaguely recognized the forearm across his chest as Clint's before leaning into the other man helplessly, gratefully, not able to stop himself from clinging, or stop more sobs from welling up.

Clint's arms were tight and unhesitating around him, and his voice was all unhurried, unworried whispers, "Hey, hey, it's okay, you're okay, Bruce, I'm here, yeah? Gonna be here, you just do your thing, okay? Here as long as you need me."

And it was too much, just like everything else, and it made him cry harder, but at the same time it was okay because Clint was acting like he'd seen this happen a billion times before, like a middle-aged scientist sobbing helplessly in the middle of the floor in his lab was something Clint dealt with twice a week. It was okay.

Bruce emptied out all his sobbing into Clint's chest, and gradually he felt lighter, and his breathing evened out, and before he noticed...

He woke up, face mushed into the soft arm of his lab sofa, eyes and face feeling heavy and muzzy. A light fuzz of hair greeted him when he looked around - Clint was sitting on the floor, back propped against the couch and head resting near Bruce's, on the cushion of the arm.

"You stayed," Bruce croaked.

"Hey," Clint said, turning and stretching a little. "Yeah, not leavin' a teammate in distress. You feelin' better?"

Bruce rubbed at his eyes, breathing deep and feeling the heaviness of his face balanced by a lightness in his chest. "Yeah, I am," he answered. "Sorry you had to see that. I don't know what... usually when I get upset, things are... smashier."

"Hey, nothin' to be sorry about," Clint said, turning to look Bruce in the eyes. "Everyone needs a good cry now and again. You'd be surprised how often I end up lending a shoulder."

"Well, they're pretty good shoulders," Bruce mumbled, blushing slightly, then slouching into a sitting position and changing the subject. "I'm assuming we missed dinner?"

"Cap'll get over it." The corner of Clint's mouth quirked. "We can do team dinner some other time, when you haven't been working yourself half to death."

The knowing, amused concern in Clint's face took Bruce aback. "I haven't been that bad. I'm just not used to so many people being around, I guess."

Clint shook his head, hoisting himself up and on to the couch beside Bruce. "I told you, I see this all the time, an' it's always the people who think one more hour of work can save the world. Workaholic SHIELD agents, mostly." He reached out to put a hand on Bruce's back again, rocking him gently. "C'm'on, let's get you to your place."

Bemused, Bruce let Clint help him up and lead him away, to his rooms where a comfortable stillness waited. Somehow it was warmer and less empty than before, even after Clint said his goodbyes and shut the door.

They all wanted to be near him for their own reasons, Bruce had thought. But Clint didn't have any reason like that. He just seemed to want to help Bruce.

Maybe the rest of them weren't looking for what they could get, either. Science, or advice, or the Hulk. Maybe he didn't have to humor them to get them to like having him around.

Maybe Bruce being here, and happy, would be enough.

Half asleep, he chewed his way through a piece of fruit, and then got ready for bed, doing a little bit of yoga to stretch out the kinks in his neck.

Sleep came easier, and more peaceful, than it had in a long time.


End file.
